Reflections
by Shattered-Rayn
Summary: Vincent has always been a many of few words, yet when given the chance to detail his life's past, he finds the words unable to stop coming. 1st person, Vincent's POV. Some detailed violence. The only implied relationship is the canon Vin Luc and Hojo/Luc.


Okay. This is the basically just Vincent's story from Vincent's point of view. Now note that this is my version of Vincent (aka the version I write in stories and rp) so not everything in here is, ya know, proven. But if it was a scene that was detailed in FFVII, then it's in there with little changing other than writing it out and maybe elaborating a bit (like adding Vincent's partner in the Turks).

Three things I'd like to point out about this:

1. There are no proper names in here because it started that way and I just liked the way it went. It gives it an impersonal yet intimate feeling, both at once.  
2. There is no actual dialog. That is absolutely intentional because dialog tends to bite into and degrade description sometimes.  
3. This is a bit rough (aka there could be spelling/grammar mistakes), but it's essentially because I just barely finished it before conking out last night. I may eventually get around to proofreading this, but who knows. Depends on if people find enough mess ups in there.

Okay... so, there you have it. Hopefully this came out better than it seemed to be last night. So let me know, hmm? :D Writing in first-person perspective is one of my weak points, so I'd like to know if I pulled it off okay.

* * *

Reflections in a Satin Lining

It's quite interesting how one man's hell is another's heaven, is it not? How one moment things can seem their worst only to become distanced by an event you never even imagined could happen. How to think on one instance is different from experiencing it. Contradictions are everywhere, hiding in the tiniest crevice possible. One ventures out to seek his fortune while one ventures to seek his death without even knowing it. There is no changing the past, though the memories can make it seem otherwise.

Call me a gloomy guy, but I'm just not all that interested in getting out there and running around with the "bang bang" and "shoot 'em up" attitude again. I used to be, but look where that got me. Which… ironically, is where I am now. So I suppose that overall, that attitude I used to have wasn't all that bad; I just don't want it back.

Yes, I used to be the normal teenage male, out there trying to get myself into all the action and trying to get all the girls. Of course once my father was hired to one of his best and worst jobs, that was straightened out. It wasn't proper for the son of a high standing scientist of a new company to be a… well, a normal boy. There needed to be discipline involved and, believe me, there were plenty of people there who knew how to do it. Instructors, professors, highly skilled trainers… they were all the best in their fields, hired by the richest man in the world to form people to the way he wanted them. I just happened to be one of the products of this discipline.

My father was astounded by the change. My mother… well, she passed away when I was quite small. My father never spoke of her, so I learned that must be the correct thing to do. So my knowledge of her is quite limited, though my father did tell me once that she would be proud to see her son so well-off in the Turks' uniform. Not that he wasn't proud as well; no, on the contrary. He was ecstatic in that strange way of his which consisted of a small smile and a nod. Yet I could tell when I would hear him speak of me to his colleagues.

His colleagues… now those were interesting people. But, I'm not going to go into that part of the past until later. I don't exactly like skipping about in memories. There's a danger of getting lost in them. Of thinking so intensely on the past that the present and future are forgotten completely even though there are times it would be wonderful for that to happen… But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Actually… I'm not entirely sure why I'm thinking of this. Perhaps it's to calm my nerves from this unfamiliarity I've been thrown into lately. Either way… It's ridiculous to start a story and not finish it, isn't it?

So, continuing…

Now when I first entered the Turks—or was forced, whichever you like; it wasn't entirely my decision—I was shocked. Could this elite service that practiced defensive and offensive tactics that could take down a small country really just be a recruiting team for the company's actual army? The idea was obscene to me even though I was shown many missions where just that was done. But the truth came out the first time I was ever on rounds in Sector 3, one of the slums of Midgar. Up until that point, I had never ventured outside of Sector 0 with the exception of before the move to the city—my father and I had lived in Wutai before then, my homeland—and I knew little to nothing about the lower sectors.

My first reaction was surprise. More simply, I was utterly stunned. People could live in this sort of deplorable environment? Surely it wasn't possible. Now by saying this, I'm not stating that my father and I were of high standings back in Wutai. We lived in a relatively small home, but it wasn't falling in on itself. I had heard stories of the slums from some of the other trainees of my group, but I had never believed them until I saw the sight for myself. And frankly, after my shock had dissipated, I was humbled. I was living in a barrack that provided whatever we would need and then some and here were all these people barely scraping together a meal.

I remember feeling a little sick when I met the eyes of a child who came out of his house to see us. There was a desperate hope hidden in them, yet an expression that told he knew the slums were all he would ever see and know. This glimpse of someone from the plate was almost like a sighting of God to him and I could tell he was awed, but also feared our being there. That was the first time I had ever seen someone so young look so… lost in life. There was absolutely nothing left to live for besides what he already had and that had left him with an almost haunting existence.

The leader of our group shouted something right then, a phrase I didn't quite understand. Yet the child seemed to do so clearly and chose that moment to decide that we were not gods, but demons and that he should run. I watched him disappear into the shadows cloaking the streets, one last glimpse of his face showing he hated us well-dressed devils of the plate.

I had never had any experience with hate before. Granted, I had had the usual adolescent outbursts where I had yelled at my father, yet I had never been faced with the feeling that someone hated, I mean actually _hated_ me because of what I was. I came from a society where people just didn't do that. So to be thrown so suddenly into this world of trash and rubble where I was hated… I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I know it was showing on my face as well; there's no way it couldn't have been. Luckily, no one noticed.

Once the boy was completely gone, the group seemed to forget he had ever existed. I suppose it was because most of my group was from Midgar and used to seeing this sort of thing. However, I was stunned and mortified, so much so that I didn't even notice the next hour or so of traveling that we did. What I did notice was when we stopped and the leaders gathered us together to brief us for our mission.

Now when one is expecting to simply go out to scout members for a military force, they aren't expecting to also be on a hunt-to-kill mission. This was my mentality as the two elders sat our small group down and silently explained our purpose of being there. Evidently there had been a small uprising beginning in the sector and the Turks had been called to destroy it. It was also a small enough job that it was classified as a trainer: that is, they used it to show the new Turks what the real work was all about.

First off, I thought we would just be capturing the rebels and maybe placing them in the holding cells. Yet when the eldest in command pointed at me and stated I was the only shooter in our group and that I would take out the rebel leader, I panicked. Yes, I had an aptitude for gunmanship and it was decided I should expand on that. But I never thought they would want me to _shoot_ someone. Based on the faces of the others, they were just as surprised. Nowadays the knowledge that the Turks do dirty work is everywhere, but back then it was highly secretive and little known about them. It was devastating news to all of us that our job wasn't what we had thought or had been told.

The commander motioned at me again, stating that because I was alone in the gunner field, I would be the one to do the job. I was frozen. This man wanted me to shoot someone just like that? Surely he was insane. Yet when the second in command moved behind me and shoved hard, I knew it was real.

I'm not sure what was going through my mind as I lowered myself to the standard position and raised the rifle to my shoulder. I know I was shaking, terribly shaking, at the thought of killing this man I had never met. But somehow I managed to focus on the sight and narrow in on him until I could see the smile on his face as he laughed at some silent joke. I was trained as a gunman foremost and, no matter how upset I was by the thought of killing someone, that training never failed. I think I may have closed my eyes as I squeezed the trigger and the muffled shot sounded, the shouts from the man's companions telling me I had hit him.

All chaos broke loose then as the man's followers spotted out group and our leaders took over. I nearly went deaf that day from the rounds of shots fired from the officers, from the shouts and yells and from the nearly silent congratulations from the others. I think the last was the worst. Despite not wanting to do it, I had hit him directly where I was supposed to. The most comfort I managed to get out of that was that he died quickly.

When the seemingly endless barrage was over, we could see the massacre laid out before us. And it was a massacre. No pretty, delicate words could cover up the fact that an entire group of mostly unarmed men were slaughtered without a chance. We all learned in that instant that this was what we were expected to do.

The order to search the bodies was then sent out, another that made me recoil. First I kill this man and now I am to search his body for information? I wasn't terrified anymore; I was simply disgusted. There would be no proper funeral here, only a mad examination for anything telling about the uprising or others involved.

Standing over my victim's body, I felt that sick sensation from earlier, only worse. I must have looked ill because one of those in command came to me and gave a quick pat on my shoulder and said "It gets easier as you do it more." I found out later that, unfortunately, that is true. But at that moment, I didn't care.

I thought that was the worst I could possible feel when everything seemed to turn upside down. There was a shout and we all turned to see this child running toward us, the same exact child who had come to inspect us earlier. He was yelling about his father, moving as fast as he could toward me. I had no idea what to do as he shoved past my legs and started shaking the man I had killed.

Then I realized I had been wrong about that boy. He had had a life and a chance; his father. The man had been trying to create a better world for his son and other families like his and I had destroyed that chance. I had destroyed this boy's chance for a future.

The two in charge quickly took over the situation, capturing the boy and forcing him off into another part of the slums. I have no idea what ever happened to him and I'd rather not know. I failed to ask what happened to him when they returned alone. Honestly, I wasn't able to do much afterwards but think over what I had done. Was this really the rest of my life? Was I really meant to annihilate lives and futures, hopes and dreams? Was I really going to be that type of person who because so used to it that I just wouldn't care I was doing it anymore?

I remember returning to the barracks in silence and finally breaking that silence only to report to my father that his twenty-one-year-old son was a killer. I was stunned to find he wasn't alarmed. No, he was proud that I had become a full-fledged Turk now. He said he wanted to congratulate me in person, yet I declined in favor of holing myself up with my thoughts for the rest of the night.

Slowly, it did become easier as the commander had told me. The fact I was hunting down and killing others—criminal and innocent alike, it didn't matter as long as the company wanted them dead—because just a fact. I adjusted until I no longer cared about the lives I ruined. Essentially, I became hard to everything even to the point that I because known as the coldest of my group.

I guess that wasn't the way I was supposed to be though. It was either that or the fact that I was starting to scare my teammates. Whichever it was, about two years after my first mission, I received a notice that I was to be placed with a partner. Supposedly, it took four years before getting a partner. I partially recall that it has something to do with standards and skill levels, which makes sense. It would be ridiculous to put an under-experienced Turk on the main mission rounds. Someone was liable to get their head blown off and it probably wouldn't be the right person.

I was a little skeptical that I was being assigned so early, but when I actually met with my partner I found out why. Apparently he had already been briefed on my situation and explained it as he had heard. The heads of the Turks were starting to see me as something of an asset and a drawback. I was willing to do whatever was asked of me and therefore proving my loyalty and ability to follow orders, yet it also showed I was somewhat weak-willed. I would do _anything_ if given an order. Along those same lines ran my feelings toward my duties: I no longer minded it which was good in that I wouldn't suddenly give out, but it also was an example of my cold state of mind where nothing could intrude except for my orders. Essentially, I was a killing machine ready to listen to whatever a superior told me.

He explained this to me slowly, almost as if I would turn on him. Actually, I found it all quite interesting. I had gone from someone who thought it abhorrent to kill to someone who did it on a daily basis and thought nothing of it. When had that happened? I didn't really recognize a point at which I had turned into this person. Somewhere along the way, I had formatted myself into this… creature to protect what was left of my fragile, innocent mind even though I had lost most of it in the process. But that still didn't clarify exactly why I was now partnered.

It seemed he had an answer for those specifics as well. Because of this threat I could possibly pose, they needed me away from the main compound. It used to be that Turks could not quit or be fired without getting executed and since a missing Turk was always noticed, extreme measures would be taken to keep them employed. In my case, this included partnering me up and stationing us at some remote location named Gongaga.

Honestly, I didn't mind the change. It was a nice little town with nice little people who were perfectly happy to share their nice little homes. Now that I think of it, I actually disliked the place at first. Everything seemed a bit too perfect in a world that needed people like us to keep the peace. Which… I suppose that's why we were sent there. The company was building a new reactor in the area and a group of rebels had stationed itself in the forest. We were to watch out for them and squash any attempt at sabotage. My mindset said to just go search them out and make our job easier, but I was told not to.

I found during the year we spent in that town that my partner had a dislike for doing things the dirty way. At first I found this absolutely absurd. We were hired to do things the dirty way. But he insisted that it was almost wasteful to always rush into things without looking at the other options first.

I'm not sure if it was his slow, deliberate way of doing things or the fact that we were all but isolated in this little mountain town with no use for a gun but for ensuring a little extra meat on the dinner table, but somehow that stationing changed me. Perhaps it just reminded me of my old self and the days I used to spend before I ever saw Midgar and her slums. Gongaga did make me recollect Wutai, despite the bitter cold winter that seemed to last right up until the blistering, humid summer. However it happened, I suppose that the company had achieved its goal since they recalled us a little over a year later.

Surprisingly, I was actually disappointed we had to leave. But orders were orders and orders are meant to be followed. So we left the little hamlet silently, having done nothing but patrol the mountains for phantom bandits—I found out later there was no threat, just a possibility as there is with everything—and regain my humanity.

Our return to Midgar was somewhat unannounced and our welcome was short. I was somewhat relieved that my group remained aloof as it gave me time to readjust to the city. Yet things were a little different now that I was partnered. Instead of staying in the barracks with the rest of my group, I was moved into my partner's quarters in the main corporate housing. It was nice, having somewhere relatively quiet and empty to stay, and perhaps this is where I first started picking up on the loner qualities I now favor. I had little need for companionship aside from the occasional talk with my partner.

Of course, nice things rarely last.

My stay in Midgar was rather uneventful seeing as how the company still seemed to hold a wary regard of me. I participated in small, practically useless missions where nothing could go wrong and they could keep a decent watch on me. Each ordeal, the entire year, all of it seemed to fade into the next and even now I can't fully straighten them out. But, perhaps I'm never meant to. It's not as if I have important memories among those moments that I wish to keep.

One thing I do remember, though, was a phone call. No one ever called me beyond my trip to Gongaga so I was at first stunned. Stun turned to shock however, as I realized it was my father's voice on the line. My father, who had hardly spoken to me in nearly three, maybe four years, was just calling me up as if we spoke everyday. After a quick yet awkward little chat to see how each other was doing, he decided to get to his point. He was being transferred to work with some of his colleagues on a new project. From his tone of voice, he was excited about it. I had little to say.

He rambled on a bit more about when and where he was going, eventually either reaching the end of his announcement or just running out of breath. I responded slowly, saying it seemed like a good opportunity and I was glad for him. In all, I was glad for him. When we had moved here years before, he had said he hoped for something big enough to challenge him and possibly get his name in the history books. This was his chance so of course I wanted him to take it.

The only thing I didn't count in was that he wanted me to come with him.

Thinking back now, I wish I had said no. I wish I had stayed where I was, settled in my comfortable life of a poster picture Turk, which was essentially what I had become. I could have remained in Midgar living with my partner in his quarters and overseeing the minor training missions and scoutings. But no. I had to see it as my way out, my way back into the world where I was free to do things that weren't constantly supervised. Maybe I was stupid, but I didn't know it then.

I nearly jumped at the offer, telling my father that I would accept his invitation once the main council deemed I could take on the mission. He was happy I wanted to come along and proud as well. I was surprised because he actually told me he was proud. The last time I had heard those words my hands were still wet and raw from scrubbing the blood of a civilian off of them.

The decision to allow my stationing ended up taking much longer than anyone expected. Apparently my father's colleagues were getting impatient of waiting for a Turk that had had little to none field experience in a year because he called me once more saying that they were going on. I was to meet them in Nibelheim if the decision was positive and from there I would take up my station. I thought little of the plan aside from the idea that the council was just prolonging their final say and hoping I would give up. The fact that none of the higher ups wanted me out of sight was well-known to my partner and me and he constantly reminded me of this when he could.

I guess he was actually trying to deter me in his own way, but I was too dead-set to see it. All I wanted was away from the city and its steel walls and away from the cameras and analysis routines those in charge insisted I go through every week. It was said every Turk had to do them, but I never heard of anyone speak of the routines. Either way, I wanted away from it all. My father had described Nibelheim to me during his first call and it sounded exactly like what I was looking for: a quaint little mountain town where everyone knew everyone else. Cobblestone streets and village houses with a public well adorning the center of the square… It all sounded perfect to someone who wanted far from Midgar.

So I waited. And waited and waited and waited. And finally, when I was just on the verge of giving up on the idea, an answer came through. I guess all the testing and observations they had done had proven I was sane and perfectly healthy, enough so that I didn't need to be under constant watch. Technically, there was no reason to keep placing me in ridiculous missions that I wasn't needed for. The commanders and those in charge were finally being called out for something they should have been ridiculed for long ago. My not-so-suspension was ended and I received the go ahead to prepare for the trip.

At first, my partner was thrilled for me. He was glad I was finally getting what I wanted, just as I had been glad for my father. But unlike with my father, there was regret in his eyes when he smiled at me. He didn't like my leaving. Whether it was for a bad feeling he had about the trip or some other, more personal reason, I didn't know. And frankly, back then I didn't care. I was more excited about leaving the city walls behind and seeing nature again.

The preparations ended up being quite simple: I was taken into one of the conference rooms and detailed about what I would do there. The Turks did not believe in vacations so of course I was put to work there. Even though the project my father and his colleagues were working on was kept in extreme secrecy, I was to be a guard of sorts. It reminded me of the Gongaga stationing almost. I was about to leave, satisfied that I was finally going to be free of Midgar, when they stopped me and said to tell my partner to prepare as well. Turks never traveled alone, even when they were going on a mission that only needed one.

How he took the news, I still don't know. I just couldn't tell his reaction. If I had to venture a guess, I would have said he was pleased I wasn't going alone, but also not pleased at the fact he had to leave the city. Apparently the Gongaga mission had given him his fill of the outdoors for a while and, unlike me, he liked the urban setting and was a little unwilling to give up his quarters. Yet he hid it well and conceded to coming, giving me the confident smile that he didn't mind the change in location.

The trip itself wasn't bad, considering. We ran into relatively few problems and arrived only after a week and a half or so of hard traveling. The company had provided us with the best they could offer, an airship taking us the latter half of the journey after the drive to Junon and the ferry to Costa del Sol. I had little interest in the aircraft which strikes me as rather funny now since I practically live on one. Either way, we made it to the mountain town in a little under half a year after my father had left.

He was there to meet us, one of his colleagues and who I assumed to be a village native behind him. He gave us a warm welcome and introduced us to the other two, their names soon slipping my mind. Ironically, I can't forget them now. My partner and I were given a short tour of the town while the transportation crew departed, leaving us stranded in this town cradled in the arms of the Nibel mountain range. And I loved it.

I loved everything about the place, from the quaint houses to the people who seemed afraid yet still were polite. The "mission", since it hardly was one, required little work, so I often times found myself exploring the surrounding forests and mountain caves or lazing in the shade of a tree. It was almost as if I had been transported back to my childhood where I hadn't grown and I hadn't killed.

It was peaceful in the town. Nearly obscenely peaceful compared to my previous life in Midgar. There were no bustling streams of people or vehicles, no raids on the slums, no barracks or fighting. I guess I was lulled into a false sense of calmness by it all without even realizing it until it was too late.

The startling upset to that life occurred relatively late in the day. I remember I was on my way to the mansion to switch shifts with my partner. Since the actual guarding was so lax, we had decided to just split up and trade watches back and forth. Really, the watches were just us spending time in the mansion in case anything happened. The idea that something might happen just seemed preposterous. No one knew about what was going on in the mansion aside from the occasional meetings that the company let the townspeople have there. What risk was there? We never thought what they were working with might be just as dangerous, if not more, than any rebel faction or uprising.

The mansion was eerily silent as I entered which right away should have tipped me off that something was wrong. I just placed it aside as the possibility my partner was taking a nap though. I checked the room he usually stayed in during his shift and found it empty. Again, I thought little of this. Looking back, I wonder how I became so careless as a Turk.

I think it was when I heard the shout downstairs that I actually became alarmed. Something wasn't right there and I had to find out what it was. Working my way through the rooms, I found the one my father had shown me and hit the switch to activate the hidden door. Why they needed to keep the place hidden I don't know. Then again, I had no idea what they kept or did down there.

The spiral staircase I was faced with nearly gave me vertigo, but all I was focused on at that time was finding my father and partner. When I actually did, I wished I hadn't.

I nearly stumbled across my partner in the pathway leading to the laboratory. I had no idea what had happened to put him the condition I found him, but I knew he had little chance of surviving. He had lost too much blood from the numerous cuts and abrasions littering his body, the navy of his clothes turned nearly a deep scarlet. And then there were the other injuries: I didn't have time to check him over completely, but I knew by the way he was strewn on the dusty ground that both legs were broken multiple times, his right arm and collarbone were shattered beyond any repair and no doubt his ribs were crushed. I wondered briefly if it had something to do with the partially open door nearby, but a yell from the other direction made me forget it. I hated the idea of leaving my partner in the broken condition he was, but I had to find out about the rest.

Draping my jacket over him and forcing out a hissed whisper that I would be back, I abandoned him. It was the last time I saw him alive. By the time help arrived and he was recovered the attempt to bring him back to consciousness was useless. He was already dead though whether from blood loss or the effects of what he had seen, no one could say.

It was then that I noticed the smell. It was a horrid stench, one that seemed to fill every part, every pore, every cell of my body until it clung to me like a second skin. It wasn't until later that I became very attuned to this scent, when that particular stench of sordid blood was half my own. But my first time of encountering it, I nearly gagged. Somehow I didn't and made my way toward the lab in the far reaches of the catacombs.

The place was in shambles. There is no better way to describe what that room looked like. Glass shards were scattered everywhere as if they were to compose a new layer of flooring. The lights overhead crackled and fizzed, a few sparks of electricity showing in the darker corners of the lab where wires had been severed. Remains of the equipment were in haphazard positions, threatening to fall and shatter more than they had already. I had no idea what had caused this and had little wish to know. But I had a feeling that she would be able to tell me.

She was kneeling in the center of the disaster, her lab coat stained with russet streaks and soot. She was shaking as she stared, almost lifelessly, at the glass chamber before her. Or at least what used to be the chamber. I had half an idea whatever had happened had originated there, but I wasn't going to start making guesses.

Picking my way through the remnants of the lab, I carefully touched her shoulder. She jumped, startled, and rose to her feet to face me. I asked what had occurred and she started shaking her head as if she either didn't know or didn't want to say. Of course it was the second one. She was my father's and his colleague's assistant. I had only spoken to her a few times, but they had been on business terms only.

Naturally, the questions started flying from me, many of them dealing with my father. She just shook her head more, dark hair flying around her like a maddened fog. There was nothing she would tell me and little I was willing to wait for. I left her there and did my own search of the lab, finding absolutely nothing. There was no sign of my father except for his signature on a singed piece of paperwork.

I returned to the main lab where the girl still stood, the stains on her coat brighter against the dirty white cloth. I was partially worried that she had been injured, but it was little competition against my worry for my father. I begged, pleaded with her to tell me what had happened, where my father had gone. But she stayed silent, eventually breaking down into tears when I wouldn't stop asking.

It was useless to try and get any answers out of her. I knew that the colleague was away on some journey to the northern continent, so he would of course have no idea of the accident if it even was that. Besides, I never actually trusted the man and, as the future ended up proving, it was a good thing not to trust him. Either way, the only help I could get out of him at the moment was in the form of his shared assistant who was currently sobbing on the floor and hardly caring that shattered glass was tearing through her skin. She was hysterical and, at that point, I think I was about there as well.

The rest of that night is a little too vague to recall. I'm not sure what happened after I had returned, that single remnant of my family clenched in my shaking fist. I somehow remember people arriving and taking us out of the mansion, probably to the inn. I don't recognize the hazy room in my memories. I barely recollect something about therapists and doctors asking far too many questions that I couldn't answer and seeing her curled on a bed, refusing to listen. How either of us made it out of that mess sane is far beyond my comprehension.

Yet somehow, we did. The company received a scant account of my father's disappearance, writing him off as a crazy old man who just wandered away into the mountains because he couldn't handle the stress of his project. I honestly doubt that's what happened since every time I heard that statement, there was a hint of deranged and sarcastic laughter floating in the girl's eyes.

Eventually we were allowed back into the mansion when my father's colleague returned. He put on this entire act of how devastated he was that my father was gone, but any blind fool could tell it was just that: an act. That man had wanted the same reputation and name my father held for years and no doubt he was more than eager to step into the now-empty spot.

The news of my partner was severely shadowed by the news of my father. As far as I know still, no one but those who were there, including me, know what happened to him. He wasn't even given the dignity of wandering off; he just… disappeared namelessly. No one else was sent to Nibelheim to replace him either. I was, in a sense, completely alone in this place that had taken the only two people I had ever cared for. And to make things worse, I had a fame-starved scientist and a half-psychotic assistant looming over my shoulder for nearly a year.

If I was asked a time when I was finally left alone, I wouldn't be able to give an answer. I honestly don't think there was a sudden disinterest in me anymore. The hollow looks that the girl gave me seemed to slowly fade into the usual smile and nod she used to give when I first got there and the other… I never expect him to change so I doubt he had ever stopped watching over my shoulder. Then again, it's hard to tell. For all I know, he could have forgotten I existed during the slow months that followed the incident.

The first time I actually noticed a change though, I was stunned. Regardless of whatever had happened during that evening in the laboratory and whatever it had to do with that girl, she… started to get to me. I saw her everywhere. Now, this wasn't all that strange since we did live in the same mansion and the town of Nibelheim wasn't all that big. But not only was I seeing her everywhere, I was _noticing_ her. And I wasn't noticing her for the fact that she had been the last person to see my father alive, with her lab coat soiled with blood and soot, but that she was _there_.

Whether it was a simple boy plus girl attraction, I'm not sure. Though if you ask me now, I would say it was most likely driven by desperation. She was the sole person alive who knew what had happened. She was also the sole person in the mansion who bothered to smile or say a whispered hello instead of ignore me because of my uniform.

The days between then and when I started to feel something besides hidden distain for her were like the moments after the actual incident: blurry and quickened, only partial scenes sticking out from the mess. When I actually try to remember, I see glimpses of smiles and long talks, a lazy afternoon spent under an apple tree, and watching her walk away at the end of a day. I think it was one of those last scenes when I started to realize I no longer hated her for what she was: the assistant to my father and therefore the person who spent the most time with him. I recall watching the short wave goodbye and seeing her turn, her hair just barely slipping out of the band it was wrapped in. I watched, wishing she would stop and say something more, wishing she could stay.

I think I was stunned into seclusion by that revelation. I wanted her to stay beside me, to be with me. And because of that, I hid. I hid myself away in my once-shared quarters of the mansion, hoping she never stepped near the staircase that lead to the rooms and yet wanting her to do just that. I was conflicted, confused, lost. I had never felt something so strong for someone who wasn't family and I had no idea what to do.

I wasn't supposed to feel that way. I was a Turk and Turks weren't supposed to be weakened so considerably by one person. And to make matters worse, she started forcing her way into my life. It didn't matter how much I avoided her because she always found me and unknowingly dragged me out with one of her soft laughs or shining smiles. I know she didn't understand what she did to me because she always gave me one of those confused looks when I said I needed to leave or do something, the excuses pulled out of nowhere just to escape her and what I felt.

It's funny how one emotion can overpower another so strongly. I was blinded to everything around me besides her and I guess in a way I deserved what became of me. I paid little to no attention at all to my life, to the town, to what I was supposed to be doing. She eventually invaded my mind so entirely that I fell nearly powerless when I saw her face and could do little more than just be as close to her as possible. I no longer wanted to hide from her; I wanted to be with her every second of every minute.

And she didn't have the slightest idea.

I suppose she probably knew to some degree how I felt about her. After all, it's not normal when a Turk who was once thought to be dangerous was suddenly turned into a heartsick and nearly once-again-innocent boy. It was ridiculous in the least, but not as ridiculous as what I was about to do.

I thought myself perfect for her or her perfect for me. Either way, I was determined to do something right and make her mine. I wanted her by me for every step. I wanted to see her face sleeping serenely in the morning sunlight. I wanted to hear her whisper my name after brushing a gentle kiss against my forehead. I wanted everything and all and yet I could have none of it. Of course, I was too foolish and head-over-heels to know it then.

The ring was my mother's. My father had long ago given it to me as a reminder to her, saying I should save it for the girl I wanted to spend my life with. So my mind made that connection for I was certain, dead certain, that she was the one. I think I hid out by the well for hours in the gentle mist waiting for her to just pass by. And when she finally did, I nearly ran like I used to do. But something in her smile said she wanted me to stay and she wanted to speak with me.

My heart decided to lodge itself into my throat at the moment she softly said my name and I half-recall choking until I caught my breath with her quiet comforting. I dismissed it as some stupid little thing and before I knew it, I had grasped her hand and slipped the ring against her palm. She looked shocked as she pulled her hand back and stared at the circlet of gold.

I knew there had been a smile on my face, but not because I remembered it; I remembered it fading away as she shook her head and thrust it back to me. I was startled and asked her what she was doing only to get the response that she couldn't. That was the one part I couldn't understand. Why not? I clearly cared for her, loved her and was ready to take care of her for the rest of her life. Yet she insisted I take the ring back, turning and walking away with her head hung.

I suspect that ring is still lost somewhere in Nibelheim. I dropped it after I saw her walking away and I felt my chest tighten with pain. Buried in mud, I left it there as a token of my hurting heart. The mist I had spent most of the time in had turned to rain and darkness was encroaching on the town square. I left the well, thunder rumbling behind me as I disappeared into my quarters and forced myself to stay there for the next few days. It didn't actually take much to keep me there.

Eventually though, I was defeated. She came to my door, apologizing. I told her repeatedly that I didn't want to hear it, but she just kept apologizing. She explained that she couldn't accept my proposal because she was in love with the man she was assisting. I severely doubted it and wanted her to stop lying, but I simply shut the door in her face instead of actually speaking my thoughts. I just didn't want to deal with her turning me down, let alone turning me down for _him_.

Life eventually calmed to some extent once I actually agreed to step outside of my quarters for longer than a moment. I spoke to her little during the next few months and when I did, I ensured there was no emotion there whatsoever. I certainly didn't want the woman I had bared my heart for to know that I still loved her. She had cast me away and yet still I couldn't find it in myself to hate her for that. And for some reason that I never understood, she still tried to talk to me. She still wanted the friend I had been, not realizing that my mind didn't work that way.

That didn't keep her from revealing particularly secretive things to me though. I disliked the fact that she still did this, but I suppose I was the only person she trusted aside from him. When she told me that day that she was with child, _his_ child, I felt as if I wanted to lock myself away again. But I resisted and asked her if she was to go through with it. Of course, she had said. I expected nothing less. It was only when she said that, along with him, she would be doing what I saw as highly dangerous experiments on the child that I was truly stunned. When had this girl, this woman who had always offered a kind comment or smile turned into someone who preferred to alter nature.

My problem wasn't just that I was stunned. I was furious. I didn't understand how she could do something to herself and her child. I didn't understand how he could do something to their child. I didn't understand any of it.

I had approached her and gotten nothing. Naturally, I went to the next reasonable person. Of course, that was my undoing. He couldn't see what I was so upset about or why I cared so much. To him, this child wasn't his future as a father; it was his future as a scientist. It was his hope, his dream, his _need_ to do this to this unborn child, to experiment beyond the limits of ethical science. He saw no reason not to take this risk and he was far too determined to let someone stand in his way.

I found this out firsthand quite a few ways. The first time he simply locked me out of the mansion. I thought that nearly impossible, but it seemed I was wrong. Only after searching the windows scattered around the first floor did I find the one she had snuck open, obviously not wanting me out in the close-to-freezing rain. The second time I approached him about the child, he became forceful. I remember my jaw throbbing for a good week after he had hit me, the threat that it was broken far undermined by the threat he posed toward the child of the woman I loved.

I approached him several more times after that, getting nothing other than a swift punch or some sort of minor injury from a thrown glass bottle. But somewhere in there, my own desperation changed. I needed to save this child because in turn I would save her. It was no longer just a need of my own; my duties as a Turk and my loyalty to her had made themselves more apparent that they had been in nearly a year. I was going to make sure this place didn't take another person I cared for, even if it cost me my life.

Thunder crashed outside as I approached his door that night, my determination having set itself like a stone in my stomach. I had little other choice against myself but to confront him. I had to make him see what he was truly doing.

He wasn't happy to see me. Actually, that was probably an understatement. Yet he stood there, his frown growing every second as he listened to me and my reasoning. I was surprised when he actually let me finish and stand there, attempting to catch my breath. I thought maybe, just maybe, I had won him over and made him change his mind. At least that's what I thought until I saw the shift of his arm and the flash of metal.

The next few memories are fairly scattered and indistinct, all covered in the sound of a gunshot. I recall intense pain and his insane laughter, bits of speech where he told me I should have stopped when I was ahead. He told me what kind of a fool I was for loving her and that she was right to accept him instead. He ranted and raved about how all of this would make him far more famous than my father and that he would finally get what he deserved. And then she came.

I can still faintly hear her cry, her shouts demanding what had happened. Of course he never answered her, just giving me a sized kick to the side. I still feel that sharp pain every once in a while even though the injury has long since healed. I suppose it's just another reminder of the mistakes I made that I'll carry forever.

I lost consciousness at some point there and only recall waking. The first thing I noticed was the fact that I wasn't in any normal part of the mansion anymore. A quick glance around proved that I had, somehow, been moved down to the laboratory where someone had laid me out on the large table placed down there. I was confused and disoriented as to why I was there. My chest still hurt and, when I looked down, I saw a large bloodied bandage beneath my torn suit jacket. Someone had not only moved me, but they had bandaged my wound and possibly taken out the bullet as well.

Naturally, my first thought went to him. He was the only one I knew capable of going through the procedure of removing a lodged object. But that made little to no sense unless he simply didn't want to bear the brunt of another mysterious disappearance in the mansion. One missing Turk and scientist might be able to be swept under the rug, but two missing Turks were sure to get someone's attention.

I lay there wondering, unable to move because of the sharp pains in my side and chest. No doubt I had several broken ribs from the way he had kicked me and the gunshot wound would hardly have even begun to heal. Of course I was in pain. It would have made little sense if I wasn't. But still, it limited me to simply lying there and waiting for something to happen.

Something finally did happen hours later. I think I may have even fallen into a restless sleep because I don't recall staring at the ceiling for that long. How I had any idea that hours had passed, I don't know. I just do. Sounds awoke me from whatever I had been in, be it sleep or just a daze. She had appeared, something akin to deep regret on her face as she neared. Jumbled and shaken words had slipped from her mouth, but either she wasn't speaking clearly or I was still too stunned and weakened to understand. She seemed to be trying to tell me something important because she kept attempting to get my attention, to show me a round object she was hiding in her lab coat.

I recalled the vague hint that she was afraid. That in turn partially frightened me even though I knew not what I was afraid of. Maybe the fact that I was lying strapped to a laboratory table, pain lacing through me as the anesthetic started wearing off. I didn't know what had happened to me and I didn't know what would happen. But I think that panic, true panic only set in when I saw his face hovering over her shoulder with a wicked grin.

She had been startled and moved to face him, keeping herself between us. It confused me that she was being protective when I meant nothing to her. She had shouted something indistinguishable at him, the tone of voice giving away that she was arguing. About what, I didn't know. Perhaps about me, perhaps about something else.

My dulled perceptions distorted the sound of the strike to a muffled whisper in my mind. But I saw her reel, saw her stumble away from him and back toward where I lay. Her hands reached back to steady her against the examination table and touched my leg instead, the pressure of her fingertips tingling on my numb skin. He raised his hand to strike her again, but she dodged him, shouting something that I figured was directed to me as she fled. I was confused again, but had little time to think on it as he slammed and locked the door separating us from her.

There had been a shadow of malice on his face as he leaned over me, poking and prodding at the already bruised injuries. He had muttered many comments, some with the hint of twisted happiness and some with sheer displeasure. I could do little than just lie there under his hands. The numbness of my body was limiting and made it nearly impossible to do anything but let out little sounds of discomfort when he hit a particularly painful area. Those seemed to earn the greatest delight from him if his wide and hungry grin said anything.

He eventually abandoned me after what seemed like hours of merciless prodding. I thought maybe he was done with me and he would let me heal and leave. If only I had been right.

I recall the first true terror I felt when I saw light flashing off of sharpened metal. When the blade in his fingers pressed against my skin, carefully creating a path in the flesh, I screamed. I hadn't meant to, but the shock of the fierce pain shooting through my awakened body had forced the sound from my lungs. He had not given any sedative this time, obviously preferring to have me awake during whatever torture he was going to put me through.

The sickly metallic scent of blood tinged the air as he continued, thick trickles of liquid running across my skin. For all his mad slicing and cutting, he seemed to be taking a very procedural approach, almost as if I was one of his experiments. I think it was at that realization when I actually gave up. I saw no more point in fighting what was bound to happen when whatever I did made no difference. I was his toy, his plaything, and there wasn't a single thing I could do about it.

When you're under intense stress or pain, time seems to rush forward until you're blinded. Minutes become hours which in turn become days even though you know you've only been there, writhing uncontrollably against the taunt leather straps until they begin to cut into your skin, for little over thirty minutes. My perception of everything became lost but the blade almost artfully painting lines of crimson over my skin and the tiny rivulets of blood tracing over what was still unmarked. Every once in a while the pounding of my chest would cease enough for me to hear his muttered remarks of approval or dissatisfaction, the sounds drifting into my dazed ears and somewhat reminding me that this wasn't just a bad dream.

Eventually the pain overtook my weakened will and I fell into a seemingly blissful darkness. There, no blades threatened my entirety; no prying eyes bored into my mind until it felt more anguished than my body. There was only darkness, quiet, wonder, heavenly darkness. And perhaps I thought I was in heaven. Unfortunately, every heaven has a hell and mine evidently wasn't done with me.

I awoke in a daze, the breath flowing between dry and cracked lips slow and labored. I was unaware as of why, but I could think of little more than the agony racing through me. Dully focusing on the ceiling, I wished, prayed for some release or relief. It never came. And no matter how long I let those requests linger unspoken on the tip of my tongue, it never came. But he did.

Blurrily I watched him as he slipped through the door, closing it securely behind him. He looked distraught, an unusual observation despite his poor countenance most of the time, as he approached the table I was still affixed to. A solid frown was set on his lips as he spoke. He was hoping I would not prove to be a disappointment like everything else in his life. I assumed he was talking about his past experimentations or even my father. I never thought her name would fall from his lips.

He cast an annoyed glare at the door he had entered through, listing off various reasons for his disappointment in her. Perhaps his most peeved reason was that she was distracting him, even trying to interfere with his experiment. If I had still had the energy left in me, I would have shivered coldly when I realized he meant me. As of now, I was his prized possession and he would do whatever he felt necessary to keep it that way, even if that meant locking her in a room with plenty of very convincing strikes to keep her discouraged enough not to try breaking out.

I grimaced as I listened to these words. I thought I might have been able to make some sort of change when I first approached him. The one thing I never imagined was that it might make matters worse, for both her and me. Yet there I was, just barely detached from the world and my body, the floor and every surface around me painted with the rusty hue of spilt blood.

He muttered a few more things, but was far from understandable, his voice taking on an odd, muffled sound. I suppose it was just from reaching my limits once more, yet I had a strange feeling it was somehow different from all the other times I had drifted into unconsciousness before. There was some sense of… finality to it despite the sickening lurch in my stomach I had felt every time before. He loomed over me as what I could call vision blurred further, fading and distorting his face into something closer to a nightmare monster than any human's countenance. And in truth, I suppose he was.

I remember nothing after slipping back into a sort of calmness except for flashes of memories that I can hardly distinguish from dreams. Emerald would occasionally fill my vision, faint shadows that could have been others drifting through that verdant haze. Who or what they were and what they wanted, I have no idea. Only a few times did I ever feel anything but a gentle and enveloping warmth, quick sharp pains the only difference I felt.

How long I floated in that strange dream or cast of reality, I have no idea. I was startled as I was completely positive that I had died. At least that seemed to be the only logical reason for what I had experienced since I last remembered actually closing my eyes. The lights hanging above my head were obnoxiously bright, piercing my eyes to the point I had to raise a hand to shade them. It was then I realized something wasn't right.

Before, I had been confined, every inch of me that could possibly move freely strapped down. The deep slices from where the leather had bitten through my wrists were plain evidence of that. Except… It became hard to swallow as I stared at my arm. The skin was remarkably pale, but otherwise completely unmarked. I was bewildered at how that was possible, how wounds I knew had been swollen and coated in drying and fresh blood days before. But that alone made me stop and think.

Had it really been days? Or had it been weeks? Months? I hadn't the slightest idea and there was no one in my presence that I knew of to ask. I shook my head in disbelief. How could I possibly be unmarked after all I had been through? It seemed impossible, but I did know one thing that would break the illusion; surely a gunshot wound wouldn't disappear so easily.

A lurching sensation filled every inch of me as I struggled to sit up. Again, the restraints were gone, strewn haphazardly around the lab as if someone had released them in either a hurry or in a fit of madness. Considering the two people I knew had also occupied the mansion at the time, I could see either being true. Of course, neither of these two were anywhere to be seen, both a blessing and a curse when I thought of it.

A dull, throbbing ache suddenly became noticeable, increasing when I attempted to draw in a deep breath. Of course I hadn't been entirely cured; to have done so in such a limited time would have been impossible even if I had been dosed in that odd concoction from the planet's crust known as Mako. Naturally, as that thought ran through my head, the realization struck. He emerald heaven and the sensation of floating freely… I had been suspended in the liquid. Why, I couldn't say though I had probably settled a few medical and scientific disputes about the properties of the stuff. When I actually took the moment to ponder over it, the possibility that I had in fact been nearly healed by my prolonged dip was overwhelmingly positive. After all, the scarce scraps of crystallized Mako that some held in their possession could do remarkable things, healing among the list.

Still it was difficult to believe as the sounds of my own screams and his maniacal laughter was still eerily fresh in my mind as were the wounds he had created across the expanse of my body. He had pieced the once smooth plane of skin into something that resembled a gory patchwork quilt. I had seen this reflected in his bloodthirsty eyes as he had leaned over me, taking the delicate precision that only belonged to one who was extremely exultant with what they were doing. I had felt the lines laid out so carefully, the piercing sting that drew them along the only thing keeping me certain that I was still alive and awake, not trapped in a vicious nightmare that just wouldn't release it's clutches on me.

Yet when I brushed numbed fingertips across my chest, I felt only faintly ribbed marks, the scars I would bear for the rest of this so-called life. I had not the strength of heart to look down at the ragged ridges, only barely able to follow the largest, a significantly wider scar, down the center of my chest until it split over my abdomen. He had indeed treated me as little more than something to cut open and inspect for his own pleasure, even using the traditional paths of those who inspected the dead. Of course, I hadn't been dead. He made sure that somehow I stayed alive while he played to his dark, corrupted heart's content.

I had a dim thought that I hadn't yet checked what remained, a pressure against my left arm all of a sudden called to my attention. I had been too wrapped up in the tangle of scars that I had all but forgotten the rest of me. Steeling myself again seeing what I had expected all along, hardened straps breaking the skin around my wrist, I forced myself to look down. What I didn't expect was the nearly blinding shine I was confronted with. It looked like polished gold though the weight automatically corrected my thinking in this. In all honesty, I was completely bewildered at seeing this formed gauntlet wrapped securely around my forearm, only ending in the deadly-looking talons hiding the ends of my fingers.

Yet something felt off about the armor. While I could move these clad digits, there was no feeling whatsoever. At first I accounted this to the idea my hand was simply numb, yet the right hand had already regained feeling while this one still moved with no sensation. Running the fingers of my right hand across the peculiarly cold surface of the metal, I tugged lightly. Nothing at all. I paused momentarily to wet my cracked lips and tried again, this time slipping a finger under the unnaturally tight edge where metal met skin. The exploration was halted when I only encountered more of the gauntlet, cringing at how it seemed to dig right into flesh.

A mostly silent sound of frustration and confusion slipped from my throat. What sort of contraption had he affixed to me? Was this to stay here forever or only momentarily? Why could I feel nothing except for the deep cold of numbness? No one would answer my unspoken questions and I had half a mind that I didn't want them answered. Unfortunately, some malevolent force must have heard them and decided to answer the inquires in the most twisted way possible, light suddenly flashing off of dusty glass off to the side.

I believe it was then that I began to panic as I stared at that glass container filled with a cloudy liquid I couldn't identify. Breath fought to escape and fill me at the same time as I tried without success to tear my eyes away from the appendage that had once been attached in the very place that this awful metal replacement began. By his hand, I had become this thing he had parted out like a slaughtered animal just to see what would happen if he did this and that.

A shudder overtook me, accompanied by a whisper in my mind that this was wrong, so wrong. I wanted to speak the words yet found I couldn't; they weren't my words.

I nearly upset my precarious balance on the table when I whirled around, searching desperately for the source of the words. And I was greeted with no one. It took a few more soft statements for me to realize that I wasn't alone in the body I had formerly been able to call my own. Now it had been terrorized and mutilated as well as invaded by some other entity. It spoke quiet, soothing words of revenge, of carving vengeance into his flesh with claws and fangs I could possess. I didn't fully understand these ideas yet I was lured in by the comforting voice, the firm yet gentle pressure in the back of my mind to release something I couldn't begin to comprehend.

It was nice at first, the slow overtaking of my mind from this other entity. I felt little and even attempted to compare it to the noiseless abyss of unconsciousness I had so often visited. Yet when I realized that this thing was not only taking over my mind but also my body and formatting bones and muscle to its needs, I was overwhelmed. The excruciating pain exceeded anything I had felt under his hand, the strain of it becoming so intense that I only had a second to let loose a scream that still haunts my memory through every change I endure before losing the little grasp on reality I had left.

He was standing over me when I awoke though from the bruises and scratches marring my skin once more I knew my body had not slept. The creature that was now resting quietly had evidently gone on a mad rampage, not stopping until a rather large dose of tranquilizer and anesthetic had been injected into it and, by consequence, me. He painted a grim picture of a beast the likes of what I had never heard, not even in myths, his pleased and yet discontented expression accentuating the tale.

The flickering light of a torch wavered somewhere in the distance and I vaguely understood that I was no longer in the laboratory. I was somewhere else, possibly in the same underground tunnel based on the earthen ceiling and the scent of damp dirt, yet I could have easily been somewhere else. I attempted to sit up to speak with him more, but found my entire body unwilling. He raised his hand, a glint of light on the glass tube making my heart skip in fear, and he mumbled a few sentences about how I would rest to keep humanity safe from me. I shook my head just barely, unable to comprehend what he meant. Sleep?

I cast my unwieldy gaze to my side and caught sight of crushed velvet, the deep violet almost black. Surly that couldn't be right. Before I had been placed on an icy bed of steel, not some plush, enveloping container which appeared awfully close to a coffin. I believe when that thought struck me I was stunned silent. He meant to truly make me sleep, burying me alive? If I could have, I would have struggled until my body had awoken enough to allow escape. Yet I knew better. There was no way he would have taken that chance, instead loading as many tranquilizers and whatnot into me as possible without actually tipping the edge and killing me. Perhaps he wanted me to scream for his pleasure beneath the cold ground instead of letting the death be quick and silent. I should have expected it.

Yet he was mumbling again, instead saying something about keeping the vial he was holding would suspend me until I was needed. What that meant, I didn't know back then. No one was there to explain that the voice I had previously heard in my head was the only entity and that one was perhaps the most dangerous creature ever to grace the gaze of man, a herald to destruction no one could imagine. No one told me these things then and I remained little more than stunned as I lay there, unmoving in a coffin lined with dark velvet as a needle was plunged deep within my flesh. Whatever he forced through the plunger was icily cold, shivers traveling up my spine as the fluid invaded already strained veins.

I thought at first he was just throwing out some crazy ideas and that he was actually going to just kill me. The serum quickly tossed my mind into shambles, making everything in the field of vision an odd, distorted hue of grey. It wasn't long before I began to feel tired, worn down. While I had a reason to feel worn down, I knew it was whatever was dripping tauntingly off of the tip of the shining needle, his smirk wavering just beyond it.

Darkness drifted into my mind then, engulfing every sense. It remained that way for gods knew how long until I was awakened abruptly by a band of thieves attempting to pillage the mansion. It had already been abandoned by then, something that came as a stout surprise to me since I hadn't the slightest clue that years had passed since I first slept, not hours or days. I recall little aside from rage of having been disturbed, most of it not my own. Screams and the sickeningly coppery scent of fresh blood followed me back to the coffin where I willingly sealed myself away once more. I had committed another crime of the exact type that had first placed me in my cushioned prison so it was only right that I return there.

This same event repeated itself many a time though I soon began to lose track of how many exactly. Time worked its way with the remains, leaving little aside from the dust that continued to coat the coffin I called my refuge. I had little want for escape or change though I could have had either whenever I wanted. Yet still I needed that sleep, that depth of nothingness that kept the voices silent and my mind clear.

The last time I was awoken, I stared up into sapphire eyes. The thought that someone had actually had the nerve to awaken me was startling. This youth with his rag-tag group of followers had dared to open the coffin housing a creature that could have easily torn him and his fellows asunder just as I had the others who had dared enter this area. Yet there was something different in the way he looked at me with curiosity that belied his young age and his innocent pleas to join him to… save the world.

I thought him such a foolish boy that I pondered letting them go and just returning to sleep. They could find some other sap who would listen to their stories and plights and jump into the fray for a few names they didn't know. Of course, he seemed unaffected by my words and wills for him to leave, instead pestering me more until I was about on the verge of going back on my thought of letting them free. Even so, I managed to seal the conversation by cutting off whatever he was about to release from that head of his, slamming the top back onto my refuge.

The vague whispers announced that they were going to try again, for some reason wanting me with them. I had little question about the boy's sanity now. One more a crack of dim light entered my haven, his bothering continuing. The only way I could even remotely slip in a word around him was to tell him of how uninterested I was, preferring to spend eternity in silence for the deeds I had done and the people I had let down.

Something in my speech triggered this youth and his eyes sparkled dangerously as I spoke, his smile breaking into a jagged frown when I finished. He claimed he knew the child of him and the woman I loved, claimed to be battling this very child in order to save the world as he so wished. I instantly doubted him seeing as how the child wasn't even born when I had been banished to my sleep. Yet he explained a fact that I found to be the capstone to everything he had said.

Thirty years had passed since the child was born; thirty years of slumber; thirty years of a life missed because I was repeatedly driven back to this dusky room that held the only thing I knew anymore. I was… bewildered to say the least. Once more I felt plagued by the voices, each of them shouting about the havoc they could wreak on this new world. There was little option but to return to my safety, return to my silence.

He gave up then, deciding I was either not worth the trouble after all or just growing tired of trying to solicit me into leaving the mansion in his company. I lay there a while after I heard the heavy door slam shut, thinking. What if I did happen to go with them? I could perhaps… do something. Something good. Something to repent for the lives I had taken and those I had mistakenly spared. Something that might bring me to her if she still graced this world with her presence. Something, anything that would be better than another thirty years of wondering what would change without me and what would I truly ever be needed for?

It was something of a rush as I hurled the coffin lid away, making my way through the nearly collapsing tunnels to cut the group off. That rush seemed to only grow when I saw their startled expressions as they listened patiently to my explanation of why I changed my decision. There was little problem with the change, in fact they seemed to welcome me almost immediately, a fact I didn't like much at all. Yet it was a bit better to hear another human's voice in conversation than one deep within myself.

I won't say that I prefer this life to what I had before in the confines of that room with the comforting sensation of velvet around me, but there is something better of it. I can't say as to whether I will make a difference in this new world or if I will ever find out what it was he was convinced I would be needed for. I may never see her again, hear her voice cradled in my mind, touch her hand to inaudibly convey what I feel, yet that is no reason to give up. Perhaps the boy has rubbed off on me a bit. Or perhaps I'm just losing a bit of the cynical, pessimistic views that a few of the group so often comment on to themselves, each other, and on the occasion, me. Whichever, the voices plaguing me had begun to become less of a burden and more of a link to my old self, reminding me of who I once was. The body I had once been so certain I would never become accustomed to has drifted far back into my thoughts, becoming one of the few things I ponder day to day.

Contradiction… it's a funny thing yet only a few can dare face these paradoxes and learn from them that perhaps what happens in the present doesn't mean everything. And yet, the present can still mean everything.


End file.
